


my garden is the amazon

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Open Relationships, Outdoor Sex, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just zayn and harry getting high and fucking bare in the garden</p>
            </blockquote>





	my garden is the amazon

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, july 2014 
> 
> come say hi [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com) !

Harry comes over at six, when Zayn’s already been sky fucking high for five hours. Perrie’s heading out to a meeting when Harry comes around the back of the house, grinning, sunglasses on. 

“Hi, love,” Perrie says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Running out the door, but there’re drinks inside, got a six-pack in the fridge. Zaynie, fetch Harry a drink!" 

"Harry, fetch yourself a drink!” Zayn calls, from where he’s lying in the grass on one of Perrie’s brightly-patterned blankets she buys just for this very purpose. He’s sucking on the last of a joint, watching the smoke spiral upwards, and the sun is warming him from top to toe. It’s fucking brilliant. 

“I’m alright,” Harry says, squeezing around Perrie’s waist. “Cheers, love, see you later.”

“Be back round nine,” Perrie says, and then, louder - “Byeeee, Zayn!" 

"Byeee, babe!” Zayn yells back, and no sooner has the door closed than Harry collapses onto the ground next to him, first on his knees and then onto his belly, throwing an arm over Zayn’s stomach. He’s wearing tight black jeans and a soft-looking grey t-shirt, and his hair is tickling Zayn’s neck, smelling of flowers and something sweetly herbal. 

“Hi,” he says. Zayn squints at him - the bit of Harry’s face that he can see, where it’s smushed up against his chest. 

“Babes,” he says. “How the fuck are you?" 

"Good,” Harry mumbles. “This is nice. Backyard’s sick." 

"See the new wall?” Zayn says, waving vaguely behind him. 

Harry just mumbles something unintelligible in his throat. 

“Want a hit, Hazza?” Zayn asks, tapping ash off the end of the joint. He’s holding it with one of Perrie’s bobby pins because it was starting to burn his fingers. 

“Nahh,” Harry says, body warm against Zayn’s. He laughs, a bubbly little giggle that vibrates through Zayn. “I’m - good. I’m like. I’m really good." 

Zayn grins up at the perfect blue sky. "Don’t tell me you came over here already gone." 

"Daisy made brownies,” Harry mutters against Zayn’s t-shirt. “Nick and Alexa and I just got - fucked. Mmgh. Brought you one, s'in my bag." 

"Sick,” Zayn murmurs, not moving. He doesn’t need it right now, but it’s always nice to have edibles on hand. He can buy them, but he’s had a brownie off Harry’s mate Daisy before, and they’re all fancy and gourmet as hell and get him wasted. 

Harry doesn’t partake too often, but when he does, he does it right. 

“Wanna go inside?” Zayn asks, breathing deep and slow, his eyes shut. 

“Nah.” Harry nuzzles in closer. “You feel good. God,  _I_  feel good." 

Zayn laughs, this slow kind of laugh that feels like it takes forever to travel out of his chest. Harry echoes it, moving his hand down from Zayn’s hip to his stomach, like he’s trying to feel the laughter under Zayn’s skin. 

His hand keeps moving back and forth, idly, and Zayn hums in pleasure, the touch bringing little sparks up from the pit of his belly. 

"Haz,” he says, when Harry’s fingers dip down, brush over the tops of Zayn’s thighs and his dick in his jeans. 

“Mmm,” Harry hums, tracing his finger down Zayn’s zipper. “What?" 

"We’re outside,” Zayn says, half-heartedly. He hates having to be the sensible one. “None - none of that." 

"None of what?” Harry says innocently, cupping his hand over Zayn’s crotch. Against his will, Zayn’s getting hard. He’s just - it’s sunny, and warm, and Harry smells so good, and Zayn’s off his fucking head. He can’t stop picturing his dick sliding into Harry’s mouth. 

He gets like this sometimes when he’s high - fixates on one thing, imagines it in detail. He’ll wake up sometimes with some elaborate sketch of something he barely remembers, or he’ll lick Perrie out for an hour, focused and single-minded, until she’s shoving his head back, whimpering, too-sensitive. 

And today, it’s Harry’s mouth. God, Harry’s mouth. 

Harry pushes his hips up against Zayn’s side, palms at Zayn’s cock just as he leans up into a kiss, and, _ahh_ , fuck, yes, that’s what he needed. Harry’s mouth is lush, soft, so cool and sweet with something like juice, and Zayn lets Harry kiss him lazily, deeply. Harry’s propped up on one elbow, his mouth open and eager. 

“Fuck,” he says, when he pulls back, and Zayn blinks his eyes open, sees how red Harry’s lips are. The sight makes him shudder, makes his cock harder. That fucking  _mouth_. It’s unholy. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says dazedly, running his hand up Harry’s broad back, into the thick dense curls of his hair. Harry loves that when he’s sober, so he can’t imagine what it feels like for him when he’s mashed. 

Harry’s eyes flicker, dark, and then flutter shut when Zayn pulls a little bit.

“Zayn,” he says, thick, slurred. “I’m - I want." 

"What d'you want, babe?” Zayn murmurs, tugging his hair again, until Harry’s head tips back and his pale throat is exposed. Zayn wants to fucking mark him, there - suck a bite just next to the vein, just over Harry’s pulse. 

He’s not gonna, of course. He’ll save it for the skin of Harry’s belly, or the soft meat of his hips. He’ll dig his teeth in, eventually. Harry fucking loves it. 

“Want,” Harry says, dipping in for another kiss, slow like he can’t speed it up when he’s this high. “Want to ride you." 

Zayn grins against Harry’s wide-open mouth. "Yeah?" 

"Mm, yes.” Harry kisses Zayn’s teeth, pulls back, laughs a little, sounding dazed. “Right here." 

"No, no, inside, babe,” Zayn protests, even as he grabs for Harry’s hip, squeezes the flesh there. He’ll never get over that, how Harry curves right there, how it’s so easy to dig his fingers in. 

“No,” Harry says, stubbornly. “Here." 

"We can’t,” Zayn says patiently, still working his fingers against Harry’s hip, then petting soft over the places where he dug in, comforting him. “No lube. And - outside. Someone could see." 

"No one’ll see,” Harry cajoles, groping Zayn’s dick again, trying to wear him down. Little slag. “And I have lube. In my pocket." 

"Got condoms too?” Zayn asks, trying not to sound like he’s already given in, even though he has. He’s not hard to convince. He wants to fuck Harry outside. He wants to lie right here, on this blanket, his head propped up on a pillow, and watch Harry take his dick. 

Harry mumbles something against Zayn’s neck. 

“What?” Zayn says, kissing his forehead, warm and sweat-damp. 

“Pezza said we didn’t - have to use them. If we didn’t want to,” Harry says, not looking at Zayn. “And I - I dunno. Could be good, if we didn’t. I’m clean." 

"I know you are." 

"And you are, and if Perrie doesn’t care, then -” he stops, tilting his head. “Then let’s just not." 

It should be a bad idea, but Zayn’s head is already cotton-filled and reeling from the idea of fucking outdoors, and this just adds another level to it.  _Fucking him bare_ , he thinks, gasping when Harry rubs his cock.  _Fucking him bare, outside, coming in his arse_ - 

"Yeah,” he says, voice cracking eagerly, but Harry doesn’t give him the shit the way Perrie does if he gets too excited. Harry just smiles, slow and dopey, and finally takes off his sunglasses. His face is tanned, dimples popping out, eyes red and narrowed to slits. 

“You look trashed,” Zayn says, laughing. 

“So do you, arsehole.” Harry pokes him in the cheek, and then sits up, movements slow like honey, fumbling for his back pocket. 

“Here,” he says, passing the lube over, stumbling to his feet and pulling off his jeans.

“Fucking hell, Haz,” Zayn says in wonder, because Harry’s not wearing pants. There’s just - acres of smooth tan skin, under his jeans, his legs long and thin and lovely. Zayn wants to bite his inner thighs. He wants to bite there, and on Harry’s hips, and his neck, and he wants to lick across the pink glistening head of Harry’s cock. 

He wants to do it all, suddenly, his mouth watering, but the thing he wants most is still Harry’s arse. 

Harry just grins, gets on his knees again next to Zayn. 

“Don’t move,” he says, when Zayn starts to sit up. “Just want your cock out." 

"Christ, Harry-" 

"Shhh,” Harry laughs, unzipping Zayn’s jeans, pulling them and his boxers down to above his knees. 

“If anyone’s taking a photo, we’re so massively fucked,” Zayn says, and for some reason it makes him laugh hysterically. He can’t even comprehend what it’d be like for someone to take a picture of this and put it online. Zayn’s got his  _dick_  out, and so does Harry. It’d just - oh god, he can’t stop laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Harry murmurs, sounding distracted, thumbing over the cut head of Zayn’s dick a couple times. Zayn knows Harry likes that, that he’s circumcised. He knows it’s not like most of the blokes Harry’s fucked. Not that Harry’s fucked all that many blokes. 

Nick’s not cut, Zayn knows. Zayn knows this because Harry likes to share extremely personal and unnecessary details of his sex life when he’s drunk. 

He also once told Zayn about the six-month period where he thought he was head over fucking heels in love with Nick, but Zayn doesn’t bring that up. He also doesn’t bring up the amount of time Harry spends with Nick when they’re in London, or the number of times he mentions him when he’s drunk, or the night when Zayn caught him crying on a balcony in Vegas and when he asked what was wrong Harry said  _do you ever wish we weren’t this fucking famous?_  

Zayn never brings up any of that shit, because he’s a good mate. 

“Nothing,” he says, thrusting his hips up into Harry’s grip, gritting his teeth at the good feeling of it. “You want to get yourself ready, babes?" 

Harry nods, slowly, and tears open the lube with his teeth. It takes him a couple tries, but he gets it eventually, spreads his thighs over Zayn’s hips and reaches behind himself. 

At the first touch of his own fingers his mouth drops open, pink and pretty, saliva glistening on his bottom lip. 

"Feel good?” Zayn asks, fascinated, his throat dry. He cups his hand over the head of Harry’s dick, pushes his foreskin back and rubs his thumb there until Harry shudders, leaks a drop of precome. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, eyes faraway, the muscles in his arm working as he opens himself. “Fucking - god. Yes. That feels so - yeah." 

He closes his eyes and swallows noisily, his cheeks pink in the late-afternoon sunshine. 

"Love seeing you do that,” Zayn breathes. “So bloody gorgeous, babes." 

Harry nods, pressing his hips down onto his fingers, his stomach muscles contracting as Zayn keeps stroking him gently, loosely, up and down. Harry’s cock feels fucking incredible in his hand, big and hot and gorgeous. Zayn loves pussy, but he’s so glad he and Perrie worked this whole thing out, because sometimes there’s nothing he wants more than a cock. Harry’s especially. Harry’s only, really. 

” _Shit_ ,“ Harry shudders out. "I need more. I need - can we just - can we just do it?" 

"Sure you’re prepped, babe?” Zayn mumbles, lost in the up-down stroke of his hand over Harry’s dick. 

“Yeah, I just - I fucking need it,” Harry gasps. He’s sweating, and Zayn can just imagine the intensity of his body high, right now - can imagine how much Harry’s been reduced down to pulses of want and need, his brain floating somewhere else and his baser instincts taking control. Zayn knows because he’s been there, and it’s one of the best fucking feelings. Harry should get what he wants when he’s like this. 

“Alright, alright,” he says, soft and soothing. “C'mere then, love, sit on my cock." 

Harry groans in his throat, and Zayn can hear the sound of his fingers slipping out, just as Harry curls his hand around Zayn’s bare cock, fumbles for the lube. 

"Get me nice and wet, eh?” Zayn asks, propping himself up on his elbows, sucking in a breath when Harry squeezes lube on the head, works it down over the shaft with his hand. “Yeah, that’s it." 

Harry looks feverish, and on-edge, and Zayn’s barely gotten slicked up when Harry’s kneeing his way forward, holding Zayn’s dick in his slippery hand and sinking down onto it. 

It’s tough, for a few seconds - Harry drawing in a shaking, unsteady breath - and then Zayn’s cock pops past his rim and slides in, slow but well-lubed , and Harry lets out a low groan. 

"Fuck, yeah,” Zayn murmurs, forgetting to breathe for a second and then gasping for air. Harry’s so fucking tight and so  _hot_ , like this, bare and clenching around his dick. It’s not that different from fucking with a condom, except it’s - it is, because all Zayn’s brain can think is  _I’m gonna come inside him_. It’s some sick, pleasurable animal instinct, fucking into someone without a condom, reckless and desperate. S'not like he ever does it with Perrie. She’s on the pill, but they don’t take chances, and there’s no bloody fucking way they’re having a kid, not right now. 

Harry, though. He can’t get Harry pregnant. Thank fuck. 

Harry gives a pleased little moan when Zayn bottoms out in him, and then says, “You good?" 

"Yeah,” Zayn chokes, hands curved around Harry’s hips, his eyes stinging with sweat. “God, you feel so fucking good." 

"You too,” Harry mumbles, and he starts to roll his hips, doing all the work. It’s mad how good he is at this. Put him on a fucking footy pitch and he’d fall over as soon as take one step, but set him on a cock and he’s a porn star. 

“That’s so -  _good_ , babe,” Zayn says, voice strained. “That’s so - fuck, yeah, just like that." 

Harry nods, working his arse up and down, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

"Feel good for you, love?” Zayn says, sliding his hand up Harry’s back, raking his nails down Harry’s spine just to feel the way he tightens up, squirms on Zayn’s dick. “S'it alright?" 

"Yea-ah,” Harry groans, low, throaty. He must find the right spot, then, because his eyes roll back in his head, for a second, and then he starts fucking himself down on Zayn’s dick in tight little thrusts. “Yeah, fuck,  _fuck_ , that’s it." 

Zayn watches him, entranced, watches as Harry gets himself off on Zayn’s cock. 

"Gonna come?"  he says, wrapping his hand around Harry’s straining cock, giving him a tug, and Harry sobs out loud, his jaw clenching so hard a vein pops out in the smooth skin of his cheek. 

"Yeah,” he gasps. “Yeah, Zayn, fuck - fuck, pull my hair-" 

That’s stupid fucking hot, and Zayn’s grip falters on Harry’s cock just at the  _idea_  of it, but he recovers quickly - keeps jerking Harry off with one hand and raises his other to Harry’s head, digs his fingers into his thick hair, pulls. 

Harry grins, eyes squeezed shut, still bouncing his hips and looking fucking ecstatic at the pain. 

"Harder,” he moans, his thrusts going jerky, erratic. “H-harder, yes, fuck, that’s it-" 

"Jesus,” Zayn chokes out, tugging hard at a handful of Harry’s hair, and Harry lets out a whimper of a moan and spurts all over Zayn’s hand, up to his chest, his arse clenching down around Zayn’s cock. 

“Ohh fucking  _god_ ,” he whines as he comes, starting to tremble, sinking down onto Zayn’s dick and panting, breathlessly. His thighs are shaking. “Fucking god." 

"Alright?” Zayn asks, cock twitching where it’s buried inside Harry’s tight heat. 

“Fuck yes,” Harry breathes, breath slowing. There’s come smeared over the butterfly on his chest. He looks ruined, in the best way. “Fuck yes. Shit, you haven’t - I could suck you off, if you wanted-" 

Zayn pouts without meaning to. He loves Harry’s mouth, but - god, he wants - he wants to come in his arse. 

"Or, yeah,” Harry says, reading his face, moving his hips a bit. “You could come inside me. Wait, do it on my hands and knees." 

That pings some animal part of Zayn’s brain he didn’t even know he had, and when Harry lifts off Zayn’s dick with a pained kind of moan and gets on all fours, Zayn kicks off his jeans and boxers, hopping on one leg, and then gets down behind Harry, pushes in fast. 

Too fast, maybe, because Harry whimpers, clenches too tight. 

"Breathe,” Zayn says, and Harry drops his head, panting again. He’s slick inside, and stretched. Zayn knows he can take it. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, muffled, his hair hanging down around his face. “Yeah, go on, I’m good." 

Zayn works up to a fast rhythm without preamble, because he was near ready to come before. Harry’s so hot, and so fucking -  _tight_ , even now, and when Harry starts pushing tentatively back into Zayn’s thrusts, giving quiet moans like he could get off again, like this, like it’s starting to make him feel good again, Zayn can’t hold back any longer. 

He comes with a grunt, his nails digging compulsively into Harry’s back, yanking him onto Zayn’s cock as he spills. 

Harry is steady beneath him, taking it, and then when Zayn collapses forward Harry goes soft, tumbles to the blanket with an  _oof_ , Zayn still inside him. 

Zayn gives himself a second to catch his breath, and then pulls out carefully, looks at Harry’s swollen hole. 

Harry’s breathing blissfully into his folded arms, but he shivers, groans when Zayn holds him open with one hand, watches as his come drips out, sluggish and slow. He dips a finger into the slick clutch of him, and Harry makes another wordless sound, whimpery and sensitive. 

"You’re all wet,” Zayn murmurs, fascinated, one of his hands spread wide over the round curve of Harry’s little arse. Harry shivers again. “Fucking full of come." 

” _Zayn_ ,“ Harry breathes into his arms, sounding excited. Zayn puts his thumb in, moves it in a slow circle, breathing deep, his mind entirely narrowed down to this. To Harry’s arse, leaking come, just-fucked and still-sore. 

"Feel like a fucking mess,” Harry says, lifting his head a little, voice thick and vowels elongated. He’s still high, Zayn can tell - deep into it, if the slowness of his movements and the haze of his voice is any indication. 

“You look it,” Zayn says, leaning down and very carefully pressing his teeth right where Harry’s arse is the softest, the fullest. Harry sighs in his throat, and it turns into a moan when Zayn opens his mouth, gives Harry a lovebite there. He sits up, surveys his handiwork. Harry’s swollen hole, and teethmarks in his arsecheek, and pink fingernail scratches down his back. 

Not bad. 

He could use another joint. And a cigarette. 

“Mm,” Harry says, turning his head so one green eye is looking up at Zayn, cheek pressed flat to the blanket. “Can I take a shower here?" 

"Yeah, course,” Zayn says, patting his arse gently. “Could get a takeaway as well. Yeah?" 

"Yeah,” Harry breathes, eyes fluttering shut, mouth curving up in a grin. “Yeah, sounds good." 

Zayn stumbles upright on shaky legs, grabs his pants off the ground and slips into them. He’s halfway to the back door, fingers itching for a fag, when he hears, "Zayn?" 

He turns back. 

Harry’s sitting cross-legged on the blanket, unabashedly naked, his sunglasses on again and his cheeks pink. He’s probably leaking come everywhere, like that, and Zayn tries his very hardest to be angry about that instead of massively turned-on. 

"Yeah?” he calls. 

Harry waves at him, smiling. “Thanks,” he calls back. 

Zayn shakes his head, fondly, and takes a last look at him before he turns away again. Harry looks good, here, naked and tan against the wild greenery of Zayn’s backyard. He feels abruptly satisfied, right in the pit of his stomach, and as he digs for a fag in the pocket of his jacket he can’t stop himself from grinning stupid and wide. 


End file.
